


the sky is darkening, and I do not see the stars

by Alkarinque



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fëanorian Week 2018, Nargothrond, and his relationships, basically everything is falling apart and so is curufin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-07 02:04:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14070492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alkarinque/pseuds/Alkarinque
Summary: Curufin in Nargothrond, seen as a father, a politician, a brother and a lord.





	the sky is darkening, and I do not see the stars

**Author's Note:**

> My fourth fanfiction for Fëanorian Week! This time about Curufin. It takes place in Nargothrond, right before and after Finrod leaves for his quest. It is not as fluffy and sweet as my last one, rather sad actually. I went with the prompts forge work, Celebrimbor and Ruling of Nargothrond. I wrote this in one day, so bear with the possible errors. 
> 
> I got really happy about the comments on my last one, so thank you all for giving me positivity enough to write this!

Once Celebrimbor’s father had spent all his free time in the forge. He made rings, necklaces, earrings, bracelets, jewels, and circlets when his son had been young in Valinor. Then they got replaced by daggers, armour, swords, helmets, and other sharp things. By the time they were in Middle-Earth, Curufin only made things meant to hurt or protect. Celebrimbor found it fitting and descriptive of how his father had changed from the memory he had of him _before_.

Even though he remembered very little. Sometimes he stared too long into the embers of the fire and tried to remember his mother’s eye colour but it remained blank. He would stare long and hard until tears started to run down his cheeks, when he realised he could not even remember her face.

In Nargothrond, his father seldom entered the forge. When he did, Celebrimbor found him hammering angrily at some metal which later were disposed of. Sometimes he went down to the dark and hot rooms to seek out his son, who spent all his time there. But that also happened more seldom. Celebrimbor found it strangely relieving, not having his father’s presence too near or too focused on him. He was no longer unexperienced in his craft and needed no guidance and wanted to explore his abilities on his own.

Celebrimbor tried to keep out of Nargothrond’s politics, foreboding he would not like what he would meet. His father and uncle were deeply involved in it and he denied to himself that this was the very reason he suspected it to be distressing.

When Finrod left he thought: _Now the sun leaves the sky, and what will remain?_

 

Finduilas had a challenging time grasping how Curufin the Crafty could have such a son. Celebrimbor; kind and cautious, yet passionate and hasty in things he loved. Polite and genuine. Curufin? Curufin was cold and arrogant at times, careful only with what words he spoke. And he spoke many words. How tired she was of listening to him bending them and shaping what people thought of him in court! Not because it was badly done, no; Finduilas could appreciate a politician’s skill, for she herself could find their methods useful in her own pursuits.

No, Finduilas was tired of Curufin’s games because she constantly worked against him. She was the daughter of Orodreth, who had been against allowing the Sons of Fëanor in from the very beginning, and she could see through those warning words which spoke of dark dangers outside the gates of the underground kingdom. She knew why Curufin spoke of those, and it was clever, so clever. Using fear to tie people closer to him by instructing them how to protect themselves and giving them the illusion, that he knew _exactly_ how.

It was a trick. A clever, clever trick.

Finduilas did not want her people tricked. She did not want this kingdom she had come to love and think of as her home ruled by Curufin and his brother. She knew where their paths lead, and it was straight into the very fire their father had burned of.

When Finrod left for an oath given to an Edain’s father, Finduilas thought: _how do you save a boat whose captain has left it to the waves?_

 

Celegorm did not smooth things out when they needed to be straightforward: his brother was turning mad in his focus on the goal; on the Silmarils and the fulfilment of the Oath. Every night, he walked in his rooms like the caged hounds waiting to be freed for the hunt, with a wineglass in his hand, thinking and thinking and going over what had been said during the day at court. Some nights Celegorm joined him, and he got lectures on how to behave and what not to say, and he listened but did not always comply, because really? _He_ was the elder and he knew court and minds as well as his younger brother. Curufin forgot this so easily.

Curufin forgot many things in Nargothrond’s grand halls wrought by the Casari. His son, one of them. Celebrimbor distanced himself from them and Celegorm did not blame him. The piercing fire in his brother’s eyes made him seem fey and not someone meant to be a father.

Curufin also forgot what their father had been. Fëanor had been no coward. He would not have hidden in an underground kingdom and spoken in council as if that would give him an army and weapons against Morgoth. Victory and fulfilment was not reached by talking and making people fear the very threat they were meant to fight against! Curufin forgot, but Celegorm remembered. He kept his eyes on the real mark, not on the one with a crown meant to fool people and with weak pillars to bear its weight.

(Until the princess came along – truly, had there ever been someone worthier of losing one’s target for? Celegorm was ensnared; captivated; enthralled! What was honour and a father’s Oath to something which left him more fulfilled than any good chase ever had?)

When Finrod – oh, golden, generous cousin Ingoldo – had left Nargothrond’s gates behind him, Celegorm thought: _now we shoot the prey, brother, now we take it before the chance is gone!_

 

Raenion put down the cup of tea on the small table that stood beside the chair in which his lord sat. The clatter seemed to awaken the hunched figure from deep thoughts, and Raenion wondered if he should apologise. His lord was sometimes in a foul mood, and he did not know whether the King’s departure would stir such a response or a kinder one. He opened his mouth to apologise anyway, thinking it better to be safe, but his lord cut him off before he began, startling him.

“Is it black or green tea?”

“Black tea, my lord. You always drink it before your family joins you.”

Raenion always pretended for his lord’s sake that Nargothrond had changed nothing in his habits. His lord had drunk black tea at this time ever since the Noldor were camped at lake Mithrim. Not even the deprivation of a crown and the fall of a realm had changed that.

“I have not had a family join me for a long time, Raenion.”

Raenion did not know how to respond to that. Lord Curufin had turned his eyes to the fireplace, where a mild fire crackled and spread its orange light in the room, making sharp shadows sharper. Raenion stayed where he was, trying to come up with an answer.

“It is okay, no need to smooth it over. My son has not sought me out in months, soon a year. And my brother is probably with his cursed dog, instead of his brother.”

The last part was spit out. His lord’s hand turned into a fist and the face became anger. Raenion thought that was what betrayal looked like.

“I heard he was talking to lady Finduilas, actually, my lord. Huan is still locked inside his rooms.”

His lord looked up and Raenion would have flinched at the cutting attention if he had not spent years serving him. No one else dared be so close to him, at this point.

“I see. Lady Finduilas. She is a smart lady, far more skilled than her father”, his lord said, then chuckled. “I wonder what my brother has to say to her. Nothing will sway her, that is for sure. I stopped trying long time ago. She sees through it all.”

“Lady Finduilas has been very critical to you, my lord.”

“Yes, she does not want me – us – in power. I can see why. Why would she want the Silmarils back? She has never seen them. At the same time”, lord Curufin continued, bitter like the darkest chocolate Raenion distantly remembered from the land left behind. “My son has seen them, and he still wants nothing to do with them. At least that is what I deduce, from those few encounters I have had with him … He always looks so afraid, like I hurt him by looking at him.”

The last sentence was said quietly and Raenion pretended not to hear. He had grown good at pretending, just like his lord. Instead he brought up a topic his lord loved and hated, for it was something he always talked about in the evenings. Something that never left.

“You will get the Silmarils back.”

His lord’s eyes had fastened at the fire, and they did not move.

“Yes, I will. Whether my brother will help me or not. Whether my son”, the last two words was said brokenly, like they cracked in his throat. “- will help me or not. I will. Who else?”

Raenion put the wine bottle that stood on the small table on a tray he had brought with him. He had seen what too much wine too often had turned his lord’s brother into, and he did not wish his to have the same fate. While he did, his lord continued, the voice becoming cheerful to edge of desperate.

“But Finrod will try to steal one! He will try because he also swore an oath, even he – the generous king who did his dispossessed, poor cousins a favour by letting them in.”

Raenion started walking towards the door. His lord continued, as he always did.

“When he stood there, in the sunlight with that ragged man beside him, I thought – “

Before Raenion opened the door to let himself out, balancing the tray on his knee, his lord said:

“ – I thought something dark must be coming.”

**Author's Note:**

> Casari is, according to Tolkien Gateway, the name the Noldor used for the dwarves. I know Quenya was banned, but I imagine Celegorm caring very little for something like that. If this name is false in this context, pleace tell me so so I can change it.
> 
> Also, Raenion is my OC. He is Curufin's personal servant, and his name means "son of smiling/gracious one".


End file.
